The Bra Whisperer
by ishandahalf
Summary: REPOSTED ROMY oneshot. Remy tries to find the greeneyed beauty he spent the night with, his only clue the bra she left behind. If pansy Prince Charming can find a girl with a glass slipper, then the Prince of Thieves can find a girl with a bra! ...Right?


**Disclaimer**: NAKED REMY!!! Okay, now that I have your attention, just a reminder that I sadly don't own the X-men.

**Author's** **Notes**: Apologies if you got all excited, thinking that I'd finally posted a new fic – rather than ringing in the new year with a new fic, sadly this is just a reposting of an oldie after a rather ridiculous plagiarism fiasco caused the original to be taken down. If you aren't interested in hearing the dramatic tale, then just ignore the next bit and move on to the fic!

So, this past summer I began getting messages saying that I'd plagiarized this fic from another author. I thought it was a ludicrous accusation, until I read the fic in question and found that it was basically this exact plot. To make a long story short, the author took my plot and adapted it to a new fandom – then to save face against any accusations, she replaced one of her older fics with this same plot as well, thus planting an earlier publishing date than my original 'Bra Whisperer' fic as 'proof' that the plot was hers. Luckily, due to some amazing detective work by a mod at the Twilight Awards site, we found proof of this. If you want to read about all the gory details (it's quite good fun, actually!), you can check out www(.)twilightawards(.)this-paradise(.)com(/)?p=64 – just take out the brackets when you're typing in the address.

So, I thought all was good. I received an apology from the author in question, she took down her plagiarized fics, and I put it all behind me. However, a few weeks ago I received an email from this site saying that this fic was taken down because of plagiarism accusations! Apparently they didn't pay attention to the emails I sent them explaining what had happened. Needless to say, that was _frustrating_! I was extremely disappointed to lose the 105 reviews I had garnered, and I apologize to the 75 people who had the original on their favourites list and the 13 C2 communities it was featured in.

And thus, after this long-winded explanation, here I am, reposting the fic. Nobody puts ishie in a corner! To all of you who have read this before, I hope you enjoy it just as much (or more!) a second time around; to all those who are just stumbling across it, enjoy this fluffy, cracked-out piece of fun. :)

* * *

**The Bra Whisperer**

The sounds of a New Orleans morning filtered in through an open window. Normally the bustle of the French Quarter's crowds would gently rouse Remy LeBeau from his slumber, but today the city had apparently forgotten the meaning of the word 'gentle'. Instead, it felt like a nail was being driven into his head. And not just with a regular hammer, either – judging by the intensity of the pain, it would have to be a sledgehammer. One that kept missing its target, too, which would be the only explanation for the hurt.

Groaning, a hung-over Remy buried himself deeper into his pillows, hiding his sensitive eyes from the offending light. As he did so, a fresh, flowery scent drifted up by his nose, suddenly triggering a memory.

Visions of a woman quickly flashed in front of his eyes – a beautiful, sexy woman lying underneath him, moving with him, falling asleep beside him… Last night was a blur, but somehow he remembered the fact that he and this mystery woman had engaged in some mind-blowing sex. Despite the pounding pain in his skull, Remy couldn't help but grin.

He furrowed his brow, trying to recall more details. The only thing that seemed to pop to mind were deep green eyes; the rest was all a haze. Dammit, why couldn't he even remember what she looked like? That didn't matter though, he decided, unconcerned; there was no need for memories, since all he had to do was look beside him and she would be laying there.

Smiling in anticipation, Remy forced his eyes open. Unfortunately, he didn't like what he saw – or more specifically, it was what he didn't see. The space next to him was empty, the covers rumpled and thrown back, but still warm. His mystery woman was gone…

The groggy man frowned, a strange feeling of disappointment coursing through him. He had hoped she might still be there with him – why did he seem to want that so badly?

Sighing, trying to ignore the strange feelings within him and the bizarreness of the situation (for once _he_ hadn't been the one to sneak out before the sun rose!), Remy stumbled out of his bed. Maybe he could try to rationalize things, and attribute the odd sentiments to his usual morning brain freeze…

Deciding that his first priority should be finding some aspirin, he stumbled over the piles of laundry that littered the floor on the way to the bathroom. Cursing his luck at finding the bottle empty, Remy made his way back into his room to get dressed. Now he would have to brave going downstairs for some pain relievers, and knowing the scolding _Tante_ Mattie was likely to give him about drinking so much, he'd need to double the dosage. Or maybe triple it, just in case – he could smell bacon being fried in the kitchen, and that woman had deadly accuracy with her spatula.

Resigning himself to his fate, Remy reached for whatever clothes were closest, which happened to be the shirt and boxers he wore yesterday. When he picked them up, he noticed something unusual underneath them. He was no stranger to finding articles of clothing randomly lying around his room – especially since he was firm believer in the "wherever it lands is a good place to put it" philosophy – but this was definitely something that shouldn't have been there.

Hell, he didn't even own one! And certainly never would, Remy thought, as he stared curiously at the item that lay on his floor – a bra.

He blinked. Picking up the scrap of green lace, another image flashed through his head – one of him unclasping said bra from his mystery woman, the one with green eyes to match it…

Looking down at the garment in his hands, Remy suddenly smiled. What were the chances of her accidentally leaving it behind? Maybe it was a sign. Well, even if it wasn't, he decided to take it as one. Maybe his mystery girl wouldn't have to remain a mystery much longer, he mused, as the urge to find her popped up out of nowhere.

It didn't seem to matter that there was no helpful map or address stuffed inside – that might've been a bit too easy. Besides, if that pansy Prince Charming could find a girl with a glass slipper, then surely Remy LeBeau, Prince of Thieves, could find a girl with a bra!

– X – X – X –

His determination and confidence couldn't be swayed, even Remy announced his plan at the breakfast table and was met by his brother's doubts and disbeliefs.

"Are y' serious?" Henri asked with a laugh, trying not to choke on his omelette.

"Very."

The elder LeBeau raised an eyebrow. "Y're a good t'ief, Remy, no doubt about dat, but how do y' expect t' find a girl wit' only a piece of lingerie?"

Remy smirked while swiping a piece of bacon from his plate. "Mebbe marriage has pushed de lady-killer sensibilities out of y'r head, but y' can learn a lot about a _femme_ (woman) from her bra."

"Like what?"

"Well, for instance, a push-up bra means de woman craves attention an' wants t' be noticed. Padded indicates dat she's not completely satisfied wit' her image, so she might be a bit insecure. A clasp at de front usually means impatience an' likin' convenience. Cotton is worn for comfort, usually not lookin' t' impress. Conversely, silk is more adventurous, wantin' t' be shown off…"

Henri rolls his eyes and sighed. "Be glad Mercy ain't here, she'd probably smack y' after hearin' all dis crap."

"Hey, it's all true," Remy assured him. "All compiled from my research."

"Research? Is dat what y're callin' it now?"

Remy shrugged. "Den prove me wrong. What does Mercy wear?"

"I'm not tellin' y' what kind of lingerie my wife wears!" Henri exclaimed, gripping his fork and knife tighter.

Realizing that he probably shouldn't say anything remotely disparaging about his sister-in-law while his brother had sharp implements within his reach, Remy swiftly got back to the point in a subtle manner. "Let's change de subject… Anyway, I can already tell what my mystery girl's like just from her bra."

"Den what does it tell y'?" the man asked, curious about his brother's self-proclaimed 'bra-whispering'.

"Well, it's a regular underwire bra wit'out any paddin', meanin' dat she feels no need t' change herself – she's comfortable wit' who she is, has a good sense of confidence. It's simple lace – sexy but not too sheer, which tells me dat she prol'y bought it t' make herself feel special, not for someone else. She does what she wants, cares about what she t'inks – she won't be de type to change herself for a man. An' it's green, tellin' me dat she has green in her wardrobe, since women tend t' coordinate undergarments wit' outfits. I'm guessin' she wears it a lot, t' match her eyes."

Henri whistled in amazement. "Okay, dat's pretty impressive," he had to admit. "Dat is, if y're right about it."

"Well, I'll find her an' den we can see!" Remy declared.

"But _how_ will y' find her? I'm sure dere's lots of confident women in N'Awlins wit' green eyes, a C-cup, an' an unwillingness t' change demselves for men."

He frowned, not having thought that far ahead yet. "Uh… Dunno. Mebbe askin' anyone dat fits de description? I'll head back t' de club I was at yesterday, mebbe she'll be dere again tonight…"

"Why so determined? 'S just anot'er girl," Henri commented with a mouthful of eggs, wondering why Remy was so worked up about this.

"Would y' believe dat my humanitarian tendencies are kickin' in an' tellin' me t' return her bra?" he grinned sheepishly.

"Y've never returned anyt'in' in y'r life. Y're de one dat does de stealin', remember?"

"Look, dis girl..." Remy sighed, cursing himself over how love struck he sounded. "Dunno, I t'ink dis is somet'in' I have t' do. I can't remember what she looks like, who she is, or even what her name is, but I do know dat we shared an amazin' night t'gether an' I don' want it t' end dere. I have her bra, so if I can find her, den I want t' try."

"Wow. Y' know, I never t'ought I'd see de day when Remy LeBeau got whipped by a girl, but here y' are, whipped by her lingerie too."

Remy glared. "Very funny, _mon_ _frère_ (my brother)."

"Fine, do what y' want. Who knows, mebbe her leaving it behind was a _sign_," Henri drawled sarcastically.

His little brother seemed to miss the mockery, instead taking heart. "See, dat's exactly what I t'ought – dat's anot'er sign! T'anks, Henri, I'll see y' later…" he called, rushing out of the kitchen to begin his noble quest.

Henri remained seated, lifting his mug to his lips while shaking his head. It was too early in the day for Remy's antics… He would need to pour more bourbon in his coffee.

– X – X – X –

That night Remy went to bed disappointed, something he was not used to. He had no idea how many C-cupped, green-eyed women there were in New Orleans until he actually started looking for one!

Unfortunately, none of the ones he had talked to turned out to be his mystery girl. Sure, he had gotten a few intriguing looks and come-ons when he asked them about the missing bra, but none of them were _her_.

Heaving a sigh, he stared up at the ceiling, making sure not to roll over and press his sore face down on the pillow. Apparently most of New Orleans' C-cupped, green-eyed women were also very sensitive, a great many having slapped him when he asked, "_Excusez-moi_, but did y' happen t' leave y'r bra in my room last night?"

"Sometimes de _femmes_ are confusin'," Remy murmured, clutching the bra to his chest like a teddy bear as he fell asleep.

– X – X – X –

When dawn broke the next day, Remy felt refreshed and newly motivated. He decided to think big this time – it was time for a more logical approach, and hopefully one with less threat of slapping.

Carefully examining the bra and praying to whatever gods dealt with intimate apparel issues, he was thrilled to find a store label still attached on the back.

"Perfect!"

– X – X – X –

Walking into the lingerie store, racks of negligees, bras, and panties met Remy's eyes. Of course, he preferred them on beautiful women as opposed to racks, and sexy racks as opposed to metal hangers…

Pushing those thoughts away before they led him to too naughty a place, he sauntered up to the counter and gave a blindingly bright smile to the cashier. "_Bonjour, petite_ (hello, little one). Was wonderin' if y' could help me wit' somet'in'."

"Oh, of c-course!" the young girl stuttered nervously.

Remy had to smile at his ability to dramatically reduce the vocabulary of women – he still had it! Then he launched into his tale – taking care, of course, to embellish it slightly, which would hopefully guarantee him the assistance he needed.

"Well, y' see, I met de most amazin' girl – I can't stop t'inkin' about her," he sighed pitifully. "I t'ink she might be 'de one', an' I want t' find her an' tell her dat, but I don't know who or where she is. All I know is dat she left dis bra behind."

He pulled it out of his trench coat pocket; he had been carrying it around like a talisman, hoping it would bring him some luck. Would it be too much to ask for women to have a built-in 'bra-sense' that would direct them back to their lost undergarments? They always went on about 'women's intuition', after all…

"I know dat dis is de only place dat sells dis type," he continued, plastering on a pleading look for good measure. "So I was wonderin' if y'd be kind enough t' help a fool in love, an' mebbe show me a record of who bought dem recently?"

It looked like he didn't even have to try that hard, because the cashier had been starry-eyed from the start. "Ooh!" she squealed, clasping her hands together over her heart. "That is like, _the_ most romantic thing I've ever heard! It's like your very own Cinderella story!"

"Does dat mean you'll help dis poor Prince Charmin'?" Remy asked with a hopeful grin.

"I probably shouldn't... But, how can I stand in the way of true love? Let me check the computer and I'll, like, print out the list of credit card purchases for you in a second!" the girl told him, typing away furiously.

He grinned, relieved. Looking down at her nametag, he gratefully told her, "_Merci_, Kitty. Don't know what I'd do wit'out y'."

– X – X – X –

Hours later, the arduous task of assigning each credit card purchase a name and address was finally completed. Remy had never been more appreciative for all the Guild's thieving resources being at his disposal – or to be fair, at Lapin's disposal, since he had been the one blackmailed into actually doing the work.

Standing in front of the first address on the list, he took a deep breath and then walked up the front door. He rang the bell and held his breath with anticipation as it opened… Only to reveal a tall redhead.

Not wanting to give up just yet – maybe she had a roommate? – Remy began to speak. "Pardon me, but y' wouldn' happen t' own a bra like dis, would y'?" he asked, holding it up to show the woman.

"Excuse me?" she asked, appearing to be torn between confusion and taking offence.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was just wonderin' if y' were de one t' leave dis bra at my place last night," he quickly tried to explain. "But-"

"Excuse me?" an angry voice shouted, as a man with sunglasses and brown hair came up behind the redhead. "Jean, what's going on? Hey…Is that your bra?!?!"

"What? Of course not, Scott!" the woman – Jean, Remy assumed – cried out. "Why would this guy have my bra?"

"That's what I'd like to know!" Scott exclaimed, glaring (or, at least that's what Remy guessed – it was hard to tell what was going on beneath those heavily-tinted sunglasses) at the Cajun. "Who the hell are you, and why did you show up on our doorstep with my girlfriend's bra?"

"I'm sorry, I was just lookin' for de _femme_ dat left dis at my house!"

"And you think that was Jean?!?!"

"No, course not," he denied vehemently. "I was only tryin' t' find her-"

"Just get out of here!" the man bellowed, threateningly stepping closer to Remy. "Leave us alone, and give me Jean's bra back!"

"Hey, I need dat!" Remy protested, pulling his beloved bra out of Scott's reach.

Meanwhile, Jean began to glare at her boyfriend. "Scott, I told you, that's _not_ my bra! I don't even know who he is, how could he have it?"

Scott, however, wasn't listening to her protests, instead focusing on the thief in front of him. "I said, give it back!"

"Oh, nice to see that you trust me so much, Scott Summers!" Jean shrieked, pushing her man out of the way and slamming the door shut.

Scott stopped momentarily and turned to stare at the door, blinking at what had just happened. Turning back to Remy, he then yelled, "Look what you did!"

"Me? Hey, dat was y'r fault, _homme_ (man)! Mebbe y' should listen t' y'r _femme _a bit more, henh?" he goaded.

Remy realized it probably hadn't been the best thing to say when he saw the fist flying towards his face.

– X – X – X –

Remy was stiff, sore, bruised, beaten, and limping when he finally showed up in front of the last house on his list that evening. It turns out that Scott Summers hadn't been the only jealous man he had met, and it had taken quite a few test runs before Remy had perfected his spiel. He had finally managed to find an explanation that didn't automatically set off alarm bells in men's minds about why the handsome man at the door was inquiring about their significant others' intimate apparel.

Other men hadn't been his only setback, however – he had even been attacked by a few dogs. What, did he look like a mailman? He certainly hoped not.

But of course, none of that really seemed to matter. The main problem was that Remy still hadn't found his mystery girl, and the chances of it happening now seemed slim. This was the last address he had – if she wasn't here, then what would he do? Hang posters up on lampposts saying 'Found: one green bra, belongs to green-eyed woman, please call Remy LeBeau'? Or maybe he could place an ad in the paper…

But he couldn't think like that just yet – there was still hope, albeit a tiny sliver. He wouldn't know until he rang the doorbell, so Remy proceeded to do just that, and he crossed his fingers. His toes too, just for good measure.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem like the fates listened to crisscrossed digits, as the door opened and a young man with silver hair and piercing blue eyes stood there.

"Can I help you?" he asked impatiently, seeming to be in a great hurry.

"May I please speak t' de woman of de house?" Remy smiled politely, ready to put on his well-rehearsed act.

"There is no woman of the house," the man replied in annoyance.

"_Non_? Oh, sorry… It's just dat I'm doin' a marketin' survey, an' my information tells me dat a 'P. Maximoff' at dis address bought a bra from -"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure your information is right. I'm Pietro Maximoff," he informed the Cajun. "And I did buy the bra."

"Oh?" questioned Remy, getting a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Surely this guy hadn't bought the bra for his mystery woman… Right? Then that would mean she had a boyfriend! Or a fiancé. Or a husband… Each possibility made the sinkhole in Remy's gut grow exponentially. After all, platonic friends didn't buy each other lingerie – or did they? Hell, how should he know, he hadn't been platonic friends with a woman since… Well, ever!

He was panicking, and had to remember to breathe. Deciding that the best thing to do was ask, he forced himself to continue calmly. "Did y' buy it for y'r girlfriend?"

"No."

_Merde_ (shit), he thought fatalistically. "Y'r fiancée?"

"No."

_Merde!_ It couldn't be… "Y'r wife?"

"No."

No? Yes! Remy had to force himself not to jump for joy and laugh with relief. "Um, den for who?"

"It's not really any of your business!" Pietro scowled.

True, but now he was curious. "Den who else? Do y' have a sister?"

A disgusted expression crossed his face. "What brother buys lingerie for his sister?"

"Well, who else is dere? Y'r mother?"

"Oh, that'd be even worse than my sister!"

"Look, I need accurate results for dis survey…"

The other man sighed, closing his eyes in exasperation. When he did so, Remy noticed something.

"Hey, are y' wearin' eye shadow?"

"What?"

"Eye shadow. Are you wearin' some?" he asked again. "Cause it looks like y' are…"

"What? No way, of course not!" Pietro denied tensely, shifting back and forth on his feet like he wanted to run away.

"Riiight," Remy dragged out, not believing him.

"Hey, so what if I am? What I do in private is my business!" the man then stated defensively.

Realization dawned on the Cajun, and he grinned. "So, y' bought de bra for y'rself, henh?"

"I don't need this!" Pietro declared, rushing back inside and adding yet another slammed door to Remy's count.

Remy simply chuckled, relieved – that man dressing in drag was a much better option than having him romantically linked to his mystery woman. But at that thought, reality came crashing back down upon him.

That was it. He had gone to every address on that list, found everybody that had bought that specific bra, but to no avail. She must have paid cash for it, meaning there was no way to track her down…

"Looks like it's just y' an' me," Remy sadly spoke to the bra in his hands, and began to make his way back home, shoulders slumped and head hanging low.

– X – X – X –

The defeated thief dragged his feet through the front foyer, planning to sneak up to his bedroom. He was hoping to avoid Henri, knowing his brother would probably just taunt him; at any other time he would most likely be able to banter back, but not now.

Remy was about to start up the stairs when the LeBeau mansion's regal doorbell rang, stopping him in his tracks. Turning around, he walked back across the entrance hall and pulled the door open – only to have the sight that then met him leave him flabbergasted.

It was _her_!

One look into those deep green eyes was all it took for Remy to instantly recognize that it was her, his mystery woman, standing right there in front of him.

He blinked. Damn, she was even more beautiful than he remembered – but he hadn't remembered what she looked like, so that didn't mean anything, did it?

Well, the point was, she was the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen. Full, red, pouty lips… Long, curly, auburn hair with unique white streaks (why the hell couldn't he remember those? They probably would have made her easier to find)… And as his eyes trailed down her sexy, curvy body, they stopped and confirmed that she was indeed a C-cup. Yup, this was most definitely his girl!

Then he realized that he should probably stop ogling her chest. Although he noticed that it was covered in a green shirt – so he was right about her wearing that colour! He would have to keep in mind to later gloat to Henri that his patented bra analysis never failed, but there were more pressing matters to attend to now.

Nervously clearing his throat, Remy flashed her the most charming grin he could muster. "_Bonjour, chère_ (hello, dear)."

"Hi," she replied softly, looking slightly uneasy. "Um, Ah don't know if yah remember meh…"

"Of course I do," he quickly assured her. "How could I forget a _belle femme_ (beautiful woman) like y'rself?"

She smiled bashfully, valiantly fighting a blush. Remy's knees wobbled at the sight before he managed to compose himself enough to continue, "But I don't seem t' remember yo' name…"

"That's cause Ah never gave it. Ah think we were too busy with, um, other activities to exchange pleasantries an' small talk," she explained, embarrassed, suddenly shifting her gaze to her shoes as if they were the most fascinating things in the world.

"Well, we can change dat," Remy mused. "Cause y've had dis Cajun wonderin' who y' were from de moment he woke up alone."

Now she did blush, her cheeks violently turning pink. "Mah name's Rogue," she murmured, her eyes darting back up to look at him.

"Rogue? A beautiful name for a beautiful girl," he complimented her. "Remy LeBeau, at y'r service." He then suavely took her hand in his, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

"Ah know," she replied with a small smile.

"_Pardon_? I t'ought we were too busy for small talk. How d'ya know my name?"

Rogue began to fidget. "Gawd, this is so embarassin'… Well, it turns out that when Ah left an' grabbed mah jacket, Ah accidentally took these with it, since they were tangled up underneath," she revealed, pulling a pair of boxers out of her purse. "They had yo' name written on the waistband, so Ah looked yah up an', well, here Ah am."

It was all Remy could do to keep his jaw from dropping open. She had his underwear, much like he had hers – except _she_ had actually managed to find him with them… It was cruel of the universe to make fun of him this way. Especially since the pair just happened to be the rubber ducky boxers Mercy had gotten him as a gag gift. And when you added in the fact that they had his name written in them…

"_Dieu_ (God), dis _is_ embarassin'."

"Ah must admit, they are cute duckies," she smirked amusedly.

Remy groaned. "Hey, I didn't pick dem out."

"Really? What a shame, since Ah happen to like 'em. An' Ah'm sure that any man that'd wear 'em would be quite secure with himself," Rogue commented innocently.

"Well, in dat case, I'm glad y' returned dem, cause dey're my favourite pair," he back-pedalled.

"Yeah?" she laughed. "Well, Ah'll give 'em back, but Ah think yah have somethin' of mine."

"Ah, _oui_," he declared, pulling out her bra with a flourish. "Y' can have it back, but on one condition."

"An' just what might that be?" Rogue asked curiously, with a raised brow.

"Come in an' have a drink wit' me."

"Sugah, Ah think drinkin' is what got us here in the first place."

"Den it can't be dat bad, can it?" Remy grinned. "Besides – I've gotten quite attached t' dis little guy, y' know," he added, twirling the bra around his finger. "Just want t' make sure he's goin' back t' a good home…"

"Ohhh, well as long as it's fo' a noble cause then," she nodded earnestly, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Ah must admit, Ah've gotten awfully close to these ducks – Ah should make sure yah'll properly provide fo' the lil' fellas…"

"Of course. I appreciate y'r concern f'r deir welfare," he agreed mock-seriously, stepping aside to let Rogue enter.

As she sashayed past him, Remy LeBeau's earlier embarrassment and hardships were forgotten. Instead, he felt the need to give _Tante_ Mattie a huge thank-you regarding her timesaving laundry techniques – he had never before thought he would be so grateful for anyone writing his name in his underwear.

- _the_ _end_ -

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Well, there you have it, a fun little offering direct from the bizarre place that is my brain. I hope you had a ball reading it... And would it be too much to hope that I can earn the 105 reviews back that this fic previously had? A few words is all it takes! Come on, readers, I know you're lurking out there – hit that little button at the bottom of your screen and tell me what you thought! Because of course, reviews are wonderful motivators, particularly when I'm doing my darndest to get cracking on a brand spankin' new fic... Fingers crossed!

And thanks in advance to all those of you who will leave a comment. I love you all, my loyal ishandahalfarianites – you've always got my back, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate it!

Toodles,

- ish -


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